A/N: I wrote this over the three weeks directly following the S4 finale. I apologize for the delay and hope you enjoy. Part 1 of 4.
It doesn't take long for Kensi to figure out that things can be completely the same and completely different at the exact same time.
She doesn't sleep that night, doesn't even make a pretense of it; just changes into sweats for comfort and holes up on the couch with America's Next Top Model and a pint of ice cream. She eats mechanically, eyes fixed on a spot in the air before her, so caught up is she in the chaos inside her head.
She would have stayed at the office all night―until she dropped―but Hetty called it―for all of them. They'd already been on the case for thirty-six hours and she promised to have her night team doing what needed to be done. "That's an order," she said.
Callen is almost certainly out there somewhere disregarding it, and Kensi herself has collected her keys and gun at least three times, crossing to the glass doors and pushing aside the sheers to scope out the street. Each time she realizes that, as much as she may want to, she's no good on her own. She needs her team, she needs backup, and she needs to not be losing her mind with fear and worry.
Usually she can work through the fear, focus so single-mindedly on her goal that the demons can't plague her, but take away the work and all the threads of her expand and contract in ways she can't organize or control.
Deeks and Sam are missing, in God knows what condition, and she would have felt this way―the fear twisting in her gut, the worry making it hard to breathe―yesterday or a week ago.
Except it isn't quite the same. She wants to pretend that it is, but it isn't.
Because Deeks kissed her. Of his own free will. While they were on a job. That wasn't undercover. She goes over those points again and again, trying to divine an ulterior motive. If he meant something else by it. If he were just making a point.
In the rush of a moment you can't always keep track of the details; but she remembers his face, after. It was deadly serious. Was the kiss deadly serious? She still has no idea.
(How's that for communication? It fucking sucks, Deeks. Jesus Christ, use your words for once.)
Deeks and Sam are missing. She would always have been terrified. But if he kissed her and then―If she doesn't even get to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing―If that coal in her stomach labeled "Potential" was stoked by a perfect (and perfectly unexpected) kiss, and then―She can't handle that thought. She finds her hand absently pinching at her skin, hard enough to bruise, and tries to focus on the TV.
She can't.
The racing in her mind doesn't even pause to complete one thought before stumbling on to the next. She imagines Deeks and Sam dead at the bottom of a quarry. Maybe they were sent over the edge alive; maybe dead, but tortured. Maybe they had pieces cut off of them, maybe their eyes were taken. There could have been an explosion. Drowning. An explosion followed by a fire that burned them alive. She's seen it all and she can see it all again in her mind, familiar faces behind the horror.
Did Hetty know what she was sending Kensi home to? This is hell. And she feels guilty for even thinking that, because whatever Sam and Deeks are going through is unaccountably worse than her own stupid ruminating. At least she's safe and comfortable―physically―and safe. And what about Sam's family? Kensi got Michelle out of the fix she was in with only fighting wounds―the equivalent of a fireman "only" inhaling a little smoke.
Michelle is home with the kids. Good. But if Sam doesn't come home?
She makes a mental note to check on Monty if they don't have any news by tomorrow. Deeks gave her a key, a long, long time ago, with the understanding that it would only be used in emergencies. That's what partners do―God forbid there ever be a need. Like Monty going hungry because his owner―his poppa, she hears in her head, and grimaces―is missing and possibly… Well, he's missing.
Kensi sighs and stretches out on the couch, reminding herself that there is nothing she can do right now. Not even if she imagines with crystal clarity where Deeks is.
Closing her eyes, she says to the room, "Be alive, Deeks. Please still be alive."
Just before dawn, she dozes off on the couch. She wakes again as the light is turning from blue to yellow, with a jolt, checking her watch to make sure she hasn't wasted valuable time. It's just turning six, and she doesn't think this is what Hetty meant when she said "Take the night," but Kensi is getting dressed and going back to the office.
On the way, she stops to feed Monty (and, if she's honest, cry just a little into his fur; you can't prove a thing).
The overnight team was busy planting faulty intel in Iranian networks and tracking the movements of all involved parties. Thank God, Hetty was right about them; it's only an hour or two of busting down doors before they find Sam and Deeks abandoned in a warehouse; one in a soundproof room and barely breathing, the other fully unconscious in the workroom. Both are tied to chairs. Both look terrifyingly damaged.
Something the team did last night or today must have scared off their captors; or maybe they just gave up on getting the information they were seeking. It doesn't really matter―they did enough.
Ambulances are called immediately and while Callen goes to Sam, Kensi drops to her knees beside Deeks and starts working gently at his bonds. She talks, steady and quiet, though he is deep under and shows no sign of hearing.
"We're here, Deeks. We found you. You knew we would, didn't you? Didn't doubt us for a second, I'm sure. We're going to get you to the hospital and get you all checked out and you're going to be just fine. You might be stuck in that hospital bed for a few days, but you've been there, done that, nothing new about it. I fed Monty, Deeks. I know somewhere in there you've been worrying about him, so you can stop that now. I fed him and checked on him and he was just fine. Just as fine as you're going to be."
The paramedics stop her nonsense babble as they move her gently aside and lift Deeks onto a gurney. They start an IV at once and start to wheel him away.
Kensi hangs back for a second, hands dangling uselessly at her sides, before skipping forward and saying, "Can I ride with you guys? I'm his partner."
At the hospital, things are dire. Kensi thought she'd feel better knowing Deeks was getting care, but Deeks is rushed off to surgery and Kensi is led to a waiting room, where she finds Hetty, of course, already waiting.
As soon as Kensi sits down at her side, Hetty takes her hand; though Kensi is surprised, she honestly needs the physical comfort after the last twenty-four hours or so. Kensi says, "Do you―Do you know anything?" and Hetty smiles gently as she says, "They just got here."
"Of course." She takes a breath. "Will―Are they going to tell us what's going on? We aren't family…"
"Well." Hetty winks, and Kensi is starting to wonder at her steady demeanor. "I'm his next of kin, and you…" From the pocket of her blazer, Hetty pulls out a gold wedding ring. "I'm certain this will fit you."
A choked, painful laugh escapes Kensi as she takes the ring and slides it onto her left ring finger.
"They won't notice he doesn't have one to match?"
"Well, he has just been in a terrible accident, after all. I'm sure it easily could have gotten lost in the wreckage."
"And what wreckage is that?" Kensi asks wryly.
"It was a terrible car cr―Wait, no. No, he fell through the floor in his bathroom. A compromised pipe weakened the joists between the bathroom and living room. Really a terrible accident."
Kensi looks at their joined hands and asks, "How can you possibly be so calm?"
A cross between a laugh and a harrumph comes from Hetty. "It's all I can do, dear, to stave off the hysteria. Right now, before I know any better, I am believing with all my heart that both my agents will be fine. At this point I really don't give a fig who calls me naïve or unrealistic, I'm going to―" She cuts off and whispers, "Oh dear, there's a doctor."
The doctor is… let's be honest, Kensi doesn't care and won't remember one single detail about what the doctor looks like. He says, "Martin Deeks?" and Kensi's heart jumps in her chest.
Hetty is on her feet and across the room before Kensi's brain can send the message to the rest of her body to get up. When she reaches them, Hetty is saying, "Yes, I'm his next of kin, and this is his wife, Kensi Blye. What can you tell us, doctor?" Her tone is brisk and businesslike and for just a second Kensi thinks, She can take care of this. She can make everything okay.
The doctor's next words quickly wipe that thought from her mind.
"We had to perform emergency surgery when Mr. Deeks came in to stop bleeding into his abdomen, caused by blunt force trauma to his side. He has two fractured ribs and three broken fingers, but the most damage has been done to his face. You said he… fell through a floor?"
The doctor is suffering no fools, but when Hetty nods matter-of-factly, he simply returns the nod.
"Thankfully, we see no trauma to the brain, but he has lost several teeth and broken his nose. There's a lot of swelling and bruising, which will go down with time. Three stitches above his left eye." He seems to come to the end of a list on his clipboard, at which point he looks up and alternates a sympathetic gaze between the two women.
"As I said, we don't see any brain trauma, but Mr. Deeks has yet to regain consciousness. We believe his body is in shock, so we are keeping him in the ICU on fluids and pain medication. We are hoping he'll wake up by morning, at which point we can move him to a regular room for a few more days of bed rest and observation. As long as he wakes up shortly, Mr. Deeks should be able to recover nicely. Now, if you'll follow me, you can see your friend and husband."
As the doctor listed Deeks's injuries, Kensi stood stock still at Hetty's side, her hand covering her mouth and a desperate―to keep control, to stay standing―look in her eyes. It's not a bullet wound, his organs are sound, but the description of his face―his missing teeth―strikes horror deep in her core.
Hetty's hand at her elbow gets Kensi moving again, and they walk briskly after the doctor.
At the swinging doors to the ICU, the doctor turns to them and smiles gently, saying, "One family member at a time."
Tugging on Kensi's arm, Hetty pulls her down to whispering level and says, "I'll just pop in and let him know I'm here. Then he's all yours." She waits for a response, holding eye contact, and Kensi nods helplessly.
Hetty disappears through the doors; Kensi stands awkwardly in the corridor, too anxious to lean against the wall or look relaxed for the benefit of those around her. After a moment, the doctor nods and touches her arm, heading the opposite direction down the hall.
Thankfully she isn't left hanging for long, as Hetty reappears in moments. She looks exactly the same as when she went in, as much as Kensi tries to draw a reaction from her expression. Pulling her down again, Hetty makes eye contact―and it's this obvious attempt to impart strength that almost breaks Kensi right there.
"Just be his partner, Ms. Blye. You've become rather good at that." She kisses Kensi on one cheek and pats the other with her cool, dry hand.
Then Kensi is left alone before the swinging doors, feeling just as awkward and lost. Yes, she's done this before, but this feels worse and bigger and just worse for so many reasons. But he needs her, so Kensi draws in a fortifying breath, straightens her spine, and pushes through the door.
Waving half-heartedly at the nurses in their station, Kensi spots Deeks's mop of hair from across the room and makes a beeline for his little cubicle. There's a chair, which she pulls up to the side of his bed.
Only then does she let herself look, really look, cataloguing every mark from head to toe. She swallows hard and, against her better judgement, gently opens his mouth.
"Oh God, Deeks." I go by just Deeks down here on Earth, she hears in her head, and says out loud, "I could hold an entire conversation with you all by myself. You're so predictable, you know?" She leans her forearms on the bed beside his limp arm, then lets herself rest one hand on his unblemished forearm. She can barely bring herself to look him in the face, it's so grossly altered from its usual state. So she settles for studying his arm, nearly untouched, right up to the splint that holds his wrist and two broken fingers in place.
Much as he makes of his pale Norwegian complexion, his arm has a healthy tan. The hair is a dark shade of gold, and she maps the three or four freckles spotted along its length. She's probably never been closer to Deeks's skin, for an extended period of time, on purpose. It's not really a partner thing, she guesses.
But Deeks kissed her. Of his own free will. While they were on a job. That wasn't undercover. And now he can't even move his lips; when he does they'll probably start to bleed.
She puts her head down, resting her forehead on his arm, her hands wrapped around on either side. She says, muttering to herself mostly but hoping Deeks can hear her, "I'm sorry I wasn't there with you, Deeks. I'm sorry you had to go through this alone. I hope you knew that I was safe and I was coming to find you. I'm sure you were scared. I know you were in pain. But Deeks, you made it. We got you and you made it and you're going to be okay.
"You're safe now. I hope you can feel that you're safe now. I hope you come back to us soon."
Afraid she'll slow the bloodflow to his hand, Kensi backs up, folding her arms on the edge of the bed and putting her head down on them. In the hush of the ICU and the slow, regular noises of the machines, it isn't long before she dozes off. When she wakes, it's to the sound of a moan, and she's wide awake in less than a second.
Reaching for the call button she spotted earlier, Kensi stands up and leans over the bed to see Deeks's face. His eyelids are fluttering and Kensi's heart breaks in her chest when she sees the tears trapped behind them.
"Deeks?"
A nurse rushes into the room and Kensi says urgently, "I think he's in pain." Then she takes several long steps back to give the nurse room to work. The nurse pushes something into his IV, checks his monitors, and flashes a light into his eyes. When she lifts up his gown and palpates his belly, Deeks groans again and Kensi can't stop her hands from twisting around each other, wringing out her worries.
"Are you the wife?"
Kensi looks up from Deeks's face long enough to see the nurse addressing her, and nods quickly.
"This is a good sign. It means he's coming around. Are you going to stay with him?"
She nods again, feeling like a bobblehead wound too tight.
"He should be okay for the next few hours. Just talk to him, make skin contact, let him know you'll be there waiting when he wakes up." The nurse smiles encouragingly, gesturing for Kensi to return to the side of the bed. "He's making good progress."
Then she's gone, and it's just Kensi and Deeks again. The only thing she can think of is to keep doing what she was doing, touching his arm. It's so strange and awkward―neither romantic nor friendly nor even familial. Just a weird place to focus on. But they've never been exactly conventional, so she sits down again and runs her hand down his arm, shoulder to wrist, starting back at the shoulder again.
"You should know," she says, mindful of the openness of the ICU and the potential of listening ears. "I'm only touching you because she told me to. But if that's what's going to get you to wake up, and I'm doing that, I'm still being a good partner. Even if this is incredibly weird. Just like you," and a note of fondness creeps into her voice.
Of course that's the perfect time for Deeks to turn his head on the pillow, to one side and then back again.
Kensi pauses. "Um. Obviously I want you to wake up. But I'm not about to say anything incriminating here, especially if you're just pretending you can't hear me. Not that you would do that when I'm scared out of my mind, because that would be the ultimate dick move. In case you're listening, now you know."
She keeps stroking his arm, watching his eyes now. One is swollen shut but the other is essentially untouched, and still. Her hand settles just below his elbow, her thumb smoothing over the soft skin inside the joint, and she goes silent. She's run out of things to say that aren't things she refuses to say. Even if he is unconscious.
It's ten minutes or an hour or three hours later―Kensi has no idea, but she's been watching his face the entire time―when he groans again. Kensi stands up, leans over the bed, and sees him open his eyes. He doesn't see her, sees something else, and a whimper comes from his throat. Kensi puts her hand back on his arm and says, "Deeks. Deeks, I'm here. It's Kensi. I'm here."
Slowly, slowly, his eyes focus on her face and recognize her. His head whips from side to side to ascertain where he is (Are we safe? Is Kensi in danger too?) and then he looks back at her and his body, which had tensed up from head to toe, relaxes.
"This must… be…" he says with difficulty, past swollen lips and with a tongue unaccustomed to new gaps where there have always been teeth.
Kensi can't help but smile. "Heaven?"
Deeks nods and tries to smile, but doesn't respond. He seems dopey from the meds, adding to his tongue's confusion.
"Sorry to disappoint―again―but you're definitely still here on earth with me."
He nods again and winces. "I know. Hurts."
In half a second Kensi has the call button in her hand. "Do you want me to call the nurse?"
He starts to shake his head, then looks away stony-faced and nods once. Kensi stands back and watches as the nurse checks his vitals, chattering cheerily the whole time, and then shows him how to use the patient-controlled morphine button. She tells him about the options to replace his lost teeth (more surgery, in his mouth, and his eyes skip quickly to Kensi's and then quickly away again), then asks if he's hungry.
"You'll be on the soft food diet, of course," the nurse says, winking, and the best Deeks can do is nod and try to smile. By the time the nurse leaves, Kensi's smiling softly.
"Look at you, surrounded by nurses and you can't even flirt."
"Hell," Deeks says, and Kensi huffs a laugh.
"You're making so many jokes, you must be feeling just great. I'll leave you to it, then," and she starts to get up from the chair, turning away from Deeks.
Cue a loud, painful sounding groan, which brings Kensi back and scared in two point five seconds flat. She leans over the bed again and Deeks looks her straight in the eye… then his gaze drops about a foot and Kensi flops back into the chair.
"You are disgusting. Even in the freaking ICU, you are disgusting. How do you do it?"
Deeks manages a smirk and Kensi isn't mad, not at all, because he's going to be okay, and this could have ended so differently.
Pulling herself upright, Kensi leans on the bed and returns her hand to his arm just below his elbow. She says, "I don't want you to take this as encouragement for your lasciviousness."
Deeks widens his eyes, Go on…
"I'll stay a little longer, only because you scared the hell out of me. And I'm calling Hetty to take over when I leave." Kensi levels a challenging look at him and he nods.
"I'll… take it."
They lock eyes for a moment and Kensi can feel something―something coming off him. But she swore she wouldn't do it this way and so she looks down and keeps her hand on his arm. When he's better, they'll talk. Really talk, or else something bad will happen.
So when he dozes off again, Kensi makes a quick, quiet exit, calling Hetty from the corridor. "He came out of it, but he's sleeping now. Can you be there when he wakes up? Thanks, Hetty. I'm going to get some sleep before coming in tomorrow. No, of course I'm coming in. There's nothing wrong with me. Don't you start worrying about me, too."
I always worry about you, Ms. Blye. You know that.